Tales from The Skyline
by Fic Fairy
Summary: Everyone has their own local. Connie Beauchamp may well never set foot in the Hope & Anchor, but that's not to say she doesn't enjoy a drink after work. A whole set of drink based one shots!
1. Black Olive Martini

A/N - Since I've been struggling to actually finish anything recently I thought I'd look for a new angle and try some one shots. The end result of which is this... Tales From The Skyline. This first 'one shot' is stupidly short but it is, really, just an introduction. Much much more to follow...

PS - If anyone wants to offer up a drinking partner or drink as a prompt, I'm happy to try and respond!

 **Black Olive Martini (Connie/An Intro)**

 _Home (noun) ~ Where your Wifi automatically connects_

The Hilton Skyline had been a second home to Connie for years; since her original tenure at Holby. She hadn't found it straight away, originally favouring a bar nearer to the hospital where she could chat up Ric Griffin at every given opportunity, but when Michael took over as Chair of the Board, and it became blatantly obvious that she was going to run the risk of bumping into him and some floozy on every visit, she diverted and that was when she discovered The Skyline.

She remembered the night in question all too well. Her career was on a splendid downward spiral - all Michael's fault, not that she knew that at the time - and then within the hour of the board meeting from hell she'd found him, in her office of all places, with his tongue down the throat of the Clinical Matron from her ward.

Arsehole.

She'd walked away from both him and the hospital, trying to maintain the very slightest shred of dignity, still stunned by the indignity and insensitivity of it all and with no real clue where she was going. She'd considered a bit of revenge based shoe shopping but the truth was she hadn't got the energy. The betrayal had hit her hard and all she really wanted to do was get completely and utterly wasted. She wanted to forget absolutely everything.

And that was when she'd found The Skyline. An anonymous bar in an anonymous hotel; on the top floor where she could sit and gaze out over the vista of Holby and be anyone she wanted to be.

Not that she'd done a lot of staring at the views that night. That night she'd been 'Anna', screwed Juan the bar tender in the staff break room and then been introduced to his speciality; the Black Olive Martini.

When she'd returned to Holby, some 8 years after their first meeting, Juan was managing the place, and she took considered and matured approach and decided she'd outgrown sleeping with him. That said by that point she considered him a friend, and since his Black Olive Martinis were still to die for, she kept coming back.

Something weird happened second time around though. In her Darwin days The Skyline had been her sanctuary, a place where she nearly always - with a few notable exceptions - drank alone. Where she settled herself on one of their leather padded, stainless steel bar stools, leant against the surface of the marble bar and whiled the hours away enjoying her own company; except when Juan was trying it on.

Not so now.

Somehow, since her return to Holby, and the start of her new career as ED doctor turned Clinical Lead, her beloved, secure and safe sanctuary had been infiltrated. Suddenly everyone wanted piece of her nirvana. Whereas once upon a time The Skyline had been her locked bathroom door, with bubbles up to her chin and glass of wine in hand, now it was - for want of a better word - different. It was a roast dinner on a Sunday, family gathered round. Cosy, cuddly, and often far far too noisy. Even Juan had commented on it.

But, although she'd never admit it, Connie kind of liked it that way. It was strange; and at times uncomfortable but she liked it.

And at least the Black Olive Martinis hadn't changed.


	2. Scotch, No Ice, Twice

**Scotch, No Ice, Twice (Connie/Charlie)**

 _'Sir David Dalton has asked me to end the uncertainty for the service by proceeding with the introduction of a new contract that he and his colleagues consider both safer for patients and fair and reasonable for junior doctors. I have therefore today decided to do that' - Jeremy Hunt, re the Imposition of the Junior Contract_

"Connie, please, talk to me."

She was giving me cause to worry, not for the first time. Granted, it hadn't been the easiest of weeks, one way or another; Grace had really been ramping up the emotional blackmail of late, putting the poor girl through a great deal even from thousands of miles away, and then, on top of all that, we've had today. Jeremy Hunt. Imposition. The Junior Contract. On the surface it's not either of our problems, but we are one NHS, and not safe, not fair for one of us, isn't safe, nor fair for any of us or our patients, and so I do understand why she's upset. To a degree. But I like to think I've got to know Connie Beauchamp pretty well over the last 18 months or so and the state she's in currently seems disproportionate. Even to me.

She says nothing, so I try again, reaching out, touching her hand; a hand that's clutching a glass of Scotch as she stares numbly at the TV screen on the other side of the bar.

"Is he the problem?" I ask softly, following her gaze to the face on the screen.

My question hangs in the air for a few seconds. Then she snorts, "He's my ex husband. When isn't he the problem?"

I know quite a lot of the chequered past she shares with her ex. The Holby grapevine has not been nice, discreet or subtle about the two of them over the years, but having watched the way she hunched over her desk and sobbed when Jeremy Hunt made his announcement in the Commons today I can't help feeling there's more to this than a sly case of VRSA, marital betrayal and one hell of a break up.

"He works for him, Connie."

Her head snaps round at my words, obviously taken aback that I've had the gall to mention her ex husband's recently acquired position.

"He SPINS for him." she exploded, my words having apparently brought her out of the dazed state she's been in since she dried the last tear after the announcement was made, "He takes his bullshit and he peddles it to the masses and the bloody media run with it. Moët Medics. The cost of women in the NHS. It's all down to that little shit."

"And that makes you feel guilty?" I asked gently, sipping my own Scotch, "Because you were married to him?" I'm thinking about the way she's behaved towards our Junior team since the announcement was made. The way she gathered Cal, Lily and Ethan in the staff room and offered them gentle words of support and a Pret A Manger lunch out of her own pocket, whilst all the while refusing to make eye contact with them. On the surface she'd played the part of a concerned boss to the letter, but watching her as closely as I had, I couldn't help thinking she was holding something back.

She shook her head, staring into her drink once more, "It's not guilt. It's frustration." She sighs heavily, "He should know better. He's got no scruples, no morals and he's getting it so wrong.

She looks so distraught that it doesn't seem like the right moment to remind her of the circumstances behind her divorce, all of which seem to me to indicate that me that her ex husband didn't have much in the way of scruples and morals to begin with.

"Have you tried to talk to him?" I ask hesitantly, wondering even as I say it if the suggestion is a sensible one. If she hasn't been in touch with her ex the last thing I want to do is give her any ideas, given her clearly very fragile emotional state. To my relief though, she shakes her head,

"We don't talk, not anymore. He added me on Twitter recently but only to respectfully request on behalf of his boss that I stop writing open letters in support Junior Doctors. Bastards."

I can't hold back a smile at that. Given her excellent reputation and her former connection to his spin doctor, I'm not surprised that the SOS for Health was keen to silence Connie. She'd been waging a Twitter campaign against the Junior Contract for months, and was as eloquent in 140 written characters as she was verbally in person, and that was quite aside from the two page letter she'd written and published that had even moved me to tears.

That said, my smile doesn't last long, as I watch a lone tear roll down her cheek and land very precisely in her glass. She meets my eyes straight after with her watery ones, and I can see the embarrassment in them. I reach into my pocket and pull out a clean tissue, handing it to her as I comment gently, "Careful. You're watering down your Scotch."

She wipes her eyes, still looking embarrassed but similarly still looking near to tears. Up until now I've been letting her open up at her own rate, but given the fact she's sat in the middle of an exclusive bar and very close to losing it, I realise I need to up the ante and put the pressure on.

"Connie. What's this about? Really? Imposition isn't going to be pleasant. It's compromising patient safety and I know how much that matters to you but," I nod towards the tissue, "it doesn't matter that much."

She sighs, once again looking displeased with me, but that's OK, she never likes it when she knows I've got her cornered. She drains her glass and indicates to me with looks alone that I should do likewise. Once I've complied, she gets to her feet, disappears to the bar and orders two more before returning to our table looking slightly more composed than when she left, but distinctly apprehensive. I take my drink off of her and look at her questioningly, waiting for her to talk.

It takes a few moments but when she eventually does, it's numbly, and I can't help thinking she's shut down to make what she's got to say easier.

"It matters because," she takes a deep breath and repeats her earlier words, "he should know better, Charlie." She glances up at the screen, although Michael's image has long since disappeared, "He knows the damage this contract could do." She looks back at me, but only for a moment or so before she closes her eyes, "He's seen it." Her voices catches slightly and she takes a second to steady herself before adding, "With me."

Her words don't surprise me. I'd suspected all along, given the strength of her reactions and emotions, that it was going to come down to history. I put my drink down, and reach across the table, taking her hands in mine.

"OK, darling. Tell me all about it."

She opens her eyes, and for a split second tries to pull her hands from mine, but I refuse to let her. I know what she's doing, she's going after her drink, but I feel strongly at this moment physical comfort is not only preferable but also a lot more important. Initially she looks miffed but then she settles down and nods slowly.

"I was an SHO. He was my Registrar." She explains, "Our Consultant was a really tough cookie. He made me look like a pussy cat." I find that hard to believe, but then again I know there are one or two like that out there, "This was the 90s, before the working time directive." She continues, pulling a face, "The bad old days."

She doesn't have to expand, I remember it all too well myself, so I just nod slightly to encourage her to continue, which after a few seconds she does.

"I wasn't scared of long hours, you know I'm not afraid of hard work. But they were insanely long, and very intense, and on top of that I still had to study, and I was mentoring med students and," she falters, "I'm a perfectionist. I wanted to be all things to everyone and," she pauses as shame and guilt flood her face, "I couldn't cope." She looks away, clearly not comfortable with the idea of seeing my response to what is coming next, and obviously expecting me to judge her, although it's the last thing I'd ever do, "I self prescribed, Charlie. Uppers. A lot of Uppers."

It has obviously taken a lot for her to make the confession, but to be honest, I'm not shocked. She won't have been the first doctor to self prescribe amphetamines, and nor would she have been the last. I've counselled colleagues through similar myself, especially working in an ED. That said, I don't want to play it down since it is obviously still a huge issue for her, in terms of what she did, her relationship with Michael and in relation to the imposition of the Junior Contract.

"OK." I say softly, squeezing her hands as the pieces fall into place, "And Michael knew about this?"

Connie nods, forcing herself to look back at me, "Not at first, but," she sighs, "he was spending so much time with me, it didn't take him long to figure it out from my behaviour, I ended up so strung out. The night he confronted me was Hell." She says softly, obviously shaken at the memory, "I told him to report me and leave me to face the consequences, which is clearly exactly what he should have done, but" she gives me a wry smile, the first I've seen from her in some time, "he recognised the pressure I was under. He understood what I was going through. He covered it up, got me clean, and we never looked back."

Story told, she finally pulls her hands from mine, and reaches for her glass before I can stop her. That's fine though, she clearly needs it, and more to the point has earned it. I know just from looking her that it hasn't been an easy story to tell, and somehow, given how close we are, and how much we respect each other, I think it was particularly hard having to tell me; a theory she seems to confirm as she finishes downing her drink and begins to speak again,

"You must think I'm pathetic." She whispers, her voice heavy with self loathing, "You must think I'm pathetic, and unprofessional and a complete hypocrite. I expect so much of my team and I couldn't do it myself."

I move from my side of the booth to sit beside her, and wrap my arm around her shoulder. I'm not sure how she'll take it but she actually cuddles closer, wrapping her arms around me too, looking a damn sight more vulnerable than I've ever seen her.

"Connie," I plant a kiss in her hair, "I don't think you're any of those things. Being a Junior Doctor is hard, and used to be even harder still, if you couldn't cope with it, how would a lesser mortal?" I look down at her, and give her a smile, "Isn't that your whole point? Isn't that why you're so pissed off with that ex of yours? Because he's forgotten how bad things used to be and would quite happily go back to that."

She ponders this, and then slowly nods, "I want to know what happened to the man who held me as I sobbed, and said that the system had to take half the blame for my mistakes." Once again she glances at the screen and then sighs, "He's not that man anymore."

Digesting her words, I suddenly realise exactly what I can suggest to make her feel better, "You know, Connie, that sounds like an excellent basis for another letter." I murmur, letting the idea hang in the air for her to contemplate.

She looks stunned, "On Twitter? Do you know what the GMC would do if they got hold of this? The press? I'm pretty high profile thanks to my marriage."

I chuckle, shaking my head, "Not on Twitter. But to him. Your views as a strong confident Clinical Lead haven't knocked any sense into him, God knows why; but a reminder of what it felt like to hold that terrified young girl in his arms might. Especially if you point out everything you've gone on to achieve, not to mention all the lives you've saved."

She looks thoughtful, digesting my words, and then, with a faint smile, she nods, "That sounds good. Cathartic." She looks at me and her smile widens, "Thank you, Charlie. I don't know what I'd do without you."


End file.
